Unprepared
by nhsweetcherry
Summary: Gordon finds out the hard way that the island holds plenty of danger - as long as one is unprepared, that is!


_Okay, I seriously cannot escape this fandom…I got sucked in and eventually posted a story over three years ago, and I've been back to read (and re-read) Thunderbirds fanfictions many times over the years. Now I've finally come up with another story…it's quite drabble-ish (assuming a drabble is what I think it is; feel free to tell me if my definition is off) and I notice that I've managed to write another Thunderbirds story without any of the actual Thunderbirds machines being involved. Who knew? Apparently I can't write about large machinery. I like writing about Gordon, though._ _And brotherly fluff._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoy the randomness that my mind occasionally spits out._

 _NOTE – I do not own International Rescue, its operatives, or its machinery, and I am making no profit from this story._

Gordon Tracy squinted against the glare of the sun, noting that it was well past lunch time. "Oh, man, Dad's gonna _kill_ me!" he grumbled. "Not to mention what Scott and Virgil will do…"

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to move away from something that was poking painfully into his back, but the movement served only to increase the pressure on his chest. He coughed briefly and struggled against the pressure for a moment before forcing himself to relax and resume a pattern of shallow breathing that kept him feeling insufficiently oxygenated.

"And _I'm_ gonna kill Alan! Little twerp – I can't believe I fell for that story! I bet he just wanted to be alone when he picked Tintin up from the mainland."

A small shower of pebbles and dirt rained down over him, and he shut his eyes and mouth, turning his head to try to avoid getting it in his face. His heart beat faster – was the debris beginning to shift again?

Nothing else moved, though, and he let out a sigh of relief. His situation was already tricky enough; the last thing he needed was another landslide.

His misadventures had begun that morning. He had decided that he could use a trip to the mainland, and had risen early to catch Alan before he left. No one else had been up, so it was a quiet breakfast – until Alan cast him a sidelong glance.

"So what do you plan to do about that invasive seaweed on the beach?" he had asked.

Gordon sat up straight and stared at Alan, alarmed. "What invasive seaweed?"

Alan shrugged, taking a bite of cereal and mumbling around the food. "Oh, I thought you would've known about it already. I saw an article the other day about how this really invasive seaweed – they said the scientific name, but I don't remember what it was – it's taking over all the shore lines within a couple hundred miles of here. Really messes up the ecological system, they said. When I was out swimming yesterday, I'm pretty sure I saw a bunch of it washed up."

Gordon shoved his half-eaten bowl of cereal aside. "This is not good!" he exclaimed. "I guess I can't come to the mainland after all – I've gotta go check on the beaches!"

Some expression flickered across Alan's face very briefly. Gordon almost missed it, as he was turning to grab a water bottle out the fridge.

"All right, then," Alan said. "I hope it's nothing serious! I'll see you late tonight!"

"Say hi to Tintin for me," Gordon replied distractedly, before dashing out the door.

Hours later, Gordon thought back to that expression on his younger brother's face and recognized it for what it was – triumph.

Gordon had trudged the beach for hours, making it halfway around the island by late morning. He'd long since finished his water bottle, but kept pushing on, determined to assess the threat to his beloved island.

As his hunger and thirst increased, however, so did his suspicion. Although he was walking the shores that he knew seaweed was most likely to wash up on, he saw nothing but native species – there was no sign of any of the dozens of invasive species whose scientific names he could reel off in an instant.

Finally he stopped, staring out over the waves rolling up onto the beach. "I think I've been had," he growled, kicking the sand and losing his flip-flop. "Real mature, Alan!" He put his sandal back on and contemplated the long walk back to the house. The sun was nearly at its hottest now, and the sand was exhausting to walk through for long distances. If only there was a shorter way…he turned speculative eyes on the wall of trees behind him. Now there was an idea…

The jungle, while still hot and sticky, at least had shade. In addition, it would only be about half the distance to cover – he'd probably make it back in time for lunch if he hurried.

On the other hand, he really wasn't properly attired for hiking. He looked down at his lightweight T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops and thought of the trail through the jungle – it ran up steep, rocky slopes, then down through dense foliage and tangles of roots. It crossed little streams full of leeches, and you always had to be alert for poisonous snakes, frogs and spiders.

"Hmm," he pondered. "At least two more hours on the beach, or one hour of hard hiking – in the shade. Not that tough a decision!"

He slogged his way up through the sand to the edge of the trees. In a few minutes, he found the end of a rough trail the Tracy's had cut for maintenance purposes. If his mental map was correct, it was a fairly straight line back to the house, albeit over some rough terrain.

The atmosphere in the jungle was far different from the beach – the air felt hot and heavy, and not nearly as refreshing as he had hoped, although it was nice to be out from under the direct rays of the sun.

The path was easy to follow at first, winding its way up a gentle slope. After a few minutes, though, the climb became steeper, then steeper still, until Gordon was bent almost double, scrambling up the trail, occasionally stubbing his toes and scraping his hands on rocks.

With a couple pauses for rest, he reached the highest point of the trail in ten minutes. Trying to catch his breath, he meandered along at a slower pace. He was on a straight, flat open stretch that had been cut into the side of the hill. It appeared that there had been a landslide in this area at some point, nearly wiping out the trail and leaving a ragged gash torn in the tropical forest. The path was strewn with rocks, dirt and half-buried logs, some suspended over the drop-off to Gordon's left.

It occurred to him, as he picked his way among the debris, that it had rained heavily over the past couple weeks, making conditions ideal for another landslide. The further he walked, the more he felt the need to hurry, his experience at multiple scenes just like this one making his nerves jangle. It was as if he could sense that the massive sheet of soil and debris was ready to slide loose at the slightest provocation.

He was almost back to the safe part of the trail. With a sigh of relief, he scrambled over a huge tree trunk – and then yelped as his flip-flop slipped and sent him sprawling against a pile of small stones and branches at the edge of the trail. They crumbled away beneath him, and for a split second, he was tumbling down the hillside.

A great roar filled the air, and Gordon was battered on all sides. Then he smacked down flat on his back, and for a little while, everything went dark.

Later, as Gordon thought about it, he decided that he probably hadn't really been unconscious – just stunned from the force of the fall. In any case, as he tried to catalogue his injuries, he was fairly certain that he had somehow escaped a concussion.

Thankfully, he'd only been at the edge of the landslide, not caught in the middle. He had ended up on his back, pinned in place so thoroughly that he had to forcibly banish uncomfortable memories of the time he'd been paralyzed after his hydrofoil accident. Instead, he tried to keep his focus on determining whether it was possible to free himself, and whether he was seriously injured by being run over by half a mountainside.

Careful movement of each muscle group answered his two questions: one, that he was definitely not getting off the slope without some major assistance; and two, that he had some injuries, but he honestly wasn't sure how bad they were. He simply couldn't move enough to determine for certain whether his various aches and pains were cuts, bruises or even broken bones – though having experienced more than his fair share of injuries in his time, Gordon thought that his leg and a couple ribs might very well be broken – their ache was quite a bit more intense than anything else.

"Not bad, considering," he had muttered, spitting out some dirt. He had a tree across his chest – he thought it might be the same one that had tripped him up. It was suspended in such a way that only a little of its massive weight was pressing down on him – just enough to restrict his breathing and send little twinges of pain across his ribs when he tried to shift.

His legs were covered with dirt and rocks, and his arms were pinned too – the right at his side, but the left at an awkward upward angle that he knew was going to hurt like crazy when he finally got free.

When he had regained his senses, his first thought had been of his communicator watch. His dismay had been great at realizing that his arm was trapped – and then his spirits had sunk even lower as it occurred to him that he had left the house in such a rush that morning that he hadn't even put it on.

Now, watching the sun creeping across the sky, Gordon shook his head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he exclaimed, then coughed against the dry tickle in his throat. "Not enough water, no sunscreen, no hiking boots, no watch…" He groaned. "I am seriously dead when Scott finds me – which had better be soon! It's past lunch time…they would've known something was wrong when I didn't show up, so they're probably starting to look for me right now…" He trailed off, his expression changing to one of pure horror as he remembered one other thing he had neglected when leaving the house that morning. "Stupid!" he repeated one more time.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

At lunch, Jeff, Scott and Virgil Tracy sat down to eat, along with Brains.

"Where's Gordon?" Scott asked, glancing at the empty chairs around the table and zeroing in on the one he had thought would be occupied.

Jeff swallowed a bite of food before answering. "He had told me last night that he was going to try to catch a ride with Alan to the mainland. Since he's not here, he must have succeeded."

Virgil laughed. "Alan couldn't have been happy about that – he was really looking forward to some time alone with Tintin."

Scott frowned as he dug into his meal – something didn't feel right. He shrugged it off, though, telling himself that all his brothers were adults who could take care of themselves. There couldn't possibly be anything wrong!

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Despite his dry mouth, Gordon kept mumbling to himself as the afternoon trickled past and the late evening shadows crept through the jungle. Perhaps, he thought wryly at one point, if he lectured himself enough, his brothers would spare him their own lectures after they rescued him.

"Yeah, right," he chuckled to himself. "I deserve every word I'm gonna hear from them – I'm like a reverse Boy Scout or something." He laughed louder, startling some nearby birds into flight. "Be _un_ prepared – that's me! That's my new motto!"

A slight rumble stopped his laughter short, and he waited, heart in his throat, for his world to start moving again. A couple small rocks rolled past him, bouncing off the log and crashing into the trees far below, but nothing else happened.

He sighed with relief once again and decided that maybe he'd better give his voice a rest.

Just one more whisper. "C'mon, Scott…I know I've been stupid, but I need you to come find me. Before it's too late."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He heard Alan's plane arriving, but couldn't see anything other than a few flashing lights, as it had been dark for a couple hours. Hope rose within him again – now his family would know that he was missing! – only to be quickly dashed as he realized that everyone else would probably be in bed, and wouldn't learn of his disappearance until morning. And Alan was likely to sleep in, too, after being out so late. He sighed, and settled back to keep waiting.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

A tremendous clap of thunder woke him up with a start; he hadn't even realized that he had fallen asleep. He watched lightning split the sky overhead, and heard the patter of raindrops against the leaves of the jungle trees. As the thunder roared again, the skies let loose, pouring water down on Tracy Island.

At first, Gordon was happy – he was able to get a drink, even if it tasted like mud from all the dirt he'd inhaled – but he couldn't help but think uncomfortably of the unstable slope he rested on. It was already loose; would more water turn the landslide into a mudslide?

He didn't get any more sleep that night.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Scott slept restlessly. He arose early, tired but knowing that he wasn't going to be able to fall back asleep. He prowled the island, checking the hangar even though he'd heard the Tracy jet arrive the night before. He was eager to see his brothers and Tintin, even though he knew they probably wouldn't be up for a while – the sense of something being wrong hadn't left him; in fact, it had only grown stronger.

Telling himself it was just the thunderstorm getting on his nerves, he went to the workout room. He'd run on the treadmill while waiting for everyone else to get up.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

By the time the sky lightened to a moody gray, Gordon was shivering. He tried to think if he'd ever been cold on the island before – and came up with nothing, other than a few times someone had cranked up the air conditioning and he'd gone inside after swimming.

The soil around him seemed to hold onto cooler temperatures, especially now that it was saturated with water. It hadn't turned into a mudslide yet, though, and Gordon decided that he'd rather shiver any day than be caught in that tumbling chaos of rocks and dirt again.

"Okay," he said. "It's after eight in the morning, so Alan is probably up by now. Scotty would've gotten up way earlier, so maybe by now he knows." His shoulders slumped. "Unless they didn't eat breakfast together." He shook his head. "Stop thinking about it! They'll come!"

To take his mind off his worries, he tried to visualize exactly how his brothers would extricate him from his predicament without setting off another landslide. He sighed – it wouldn't be easy.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Just when Scott figured that his brothers must be getting up and having breakfast, Brains came into the workout room and asked Scott for details on a warning light that had come on in Thunderbird One during a routine checkup the day before. Scott ended up working on his Bird all morning, and in fact, barely escaped in time for a late lunch. Everyone had left the table already; he just grabbed a sandwich and headed back down to continue helping Brains.

Lunch might have been a scattered affair, but dinner time was almost sacred in the Tracy household. Unless they were out on a rescue, everyone knew to show up precisely at six in the evening.

Scott was one of the last to the table; he hurried into the kitchen to wash his hands, and then slid into his seat just as the clock turned to 6:00. He glanced over at Gordon's empty chair. "Guess Gordon gets to be the rotten egg tonight," he commented, taking the tray of pork chops Virgil had passed him and forking one onto his plate.

Jeff frowned sternly at Gordon's chair, but did not comment.

"Yeah, what's Gordon been up to?" Alan asked. "I haven't seen him all day!"

Scott looked up sharply – had Alan's tone been just a little too casual? His youngest brother wouldn't meet his gaze, keeping his eyes focused on his food. "That's a good question," Scott said. "I haven't seen him myself since Wednesday night. Did you guys have fun on the mainland?"

Alan's fork fell onto his plate with a clatter, drawing every eye to his suddenly ghostly white face. "Wait, you haven't…? But…" He stopped and gulped, then took a deep breath and looked Scott full in the eyes. "Gordon didn't go to the mainland with me," he said seriously. "Last I saw him was early yesterday morning. He was, uh, going to check the beach for, uh, invasive seaweed." Alan's eyes dodged away from Scott's once again.

Scott gaped at him. "You didn't bring him?" He suddenly found himself on his feet. "So where is he?" He stared challengingly around the table, his heart beginning to pound. He _knew_ he shouldn't have so quickly dismissed his instincts!

His brothers looked alarmed too, and even Jeff had a spark of concern in his eyes.

Jeff kept his voice calm, though, as he asked each person at the table if they'd seen Gordon at all. Everyone shook their heads. Without another thought Jeff pushed aside his plate and quietly but firmly gave everyone an area to search.

They performed the search with practiced efficiency and thoroughness, and met in Jeff's study half an hour later. Everyone's eyes were on Jeff except for Scott, who couldn't help but look into the gray drizzle outside, knowing that Gordon had to be somewhere out there.

"All right," Jeff said. "We know that Gordon isn't inside the house or in any of the silos. I had John track his watch" – at this, Scott's gaze swung onto Jeff; his shoulders drooped as he saw his father holding the watch – "but it was on his bedside table." His mouth tightened in a stern line, but again, he refrained from comment. Everyone present knew one of the things Gordon would be hearing about when they got him home, though. Keeping your watch with you at all times was one of the unspoken IR rules – and it was unspoken mostly because it was just plain common sense.

"So," Jeff continued, "Gordon must be outside somewhere, either on the beach or in the jungle. Since he hasn't returned home on his own, it's safe to assume that he is either trapped or injured – or both. Brains, take Virgil, Alan and Tintin to gather the equipment we'll need to search. Scott, you and I will break a map of the island down into a grid and prioritize the areas to search. We start searching in twenty minutes. Let's move!"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Every time Gordon dropped into a fitful slumber, he dreamed that he heard his brothers calling his name – but when he snapped awake, all he could hear were the eerie noises of the jungle at night and the steady patter of the rain.

"Hurry up, Scotty," he whispered, closing his eyes against the darkness.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

By the time the clouds vanished and the sun rose the next morning, the beaches all the way around the island had been searched. As the family and Brains wearily gathered for a subdued breakfast, they didn't meet each other's eyes. All knew what everyone's worst fear was – that Gordon, strong swimmer though he was – had somehow ended up in the ocean, been pulled far out to sea and drowned.

Alan in particular was pale and sober. He barely touched his food, but sat back with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for the others to be done eating so that they could start searching the jungle. Scott cast him more than one speculative glance, but knew that now was not the time to try to find out what was on his youngest brother's mind. Alan would not have withheld any information relevant to finding Gordon – of that he was certain, and that was all that mattered for the time being.

They gathered back in Jeff's study to receive their assignments, then headed out in pairs – Jeff with Brains, Alan with Tintin, and Scott with Virgil. They'd communicated with John, who was helping them search via satellite images. Dark circles under his eyes showed that he hadn't gotten any more sleep than the rest of his family, even though he couldn't be down on the island with them.

Tired but focused, each group set off into the jungle, determined to bring their errant aquanaut home.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"I wonder if Johnny can see me," Gordon mumbled. He tried to open his eyes, as if he could look up and see his brother peering down at him from Five, but all he could see was the sun, and he quickly shut his eyes again. "They always say they can spot me from a distance because of my red hair…I wonder if it works from outer space too?"

He sighed and pushed briefly against his constraints before subsiding. He'd occasionally tried to keep moving – clenching different muscles and trying to stretch. It had worked for a little while, but then a strained muscle had rebelled with a cramp, and he'd decided that he'd better keep as still as possible after that. "I hope they can unbend me," he said to himself. "I won't be much good if I'm stuck like this."

He knew that he was talking nonsense, but he had stopped caring a long time ago. Talking kept his mind off how horribly alone and abandoned he felt. Had anyone noticed that he was gone yet? They must have – it had been two days and two nights. He wondered what kind of a story Alan had given them about why Gordon hadn't gone with him to the mainland. "Alan, you are going to be pranked into eternity for this one!" he muttered. "Although…if you were to show up right about now, I might possibly be talked into making it just a year or two." He stared hopefully into the jungle. "Six months? Two? A week?" He sighed. "All right, fine…just one day! Or maybe make that two days – one for each day that I'm stuck out here!"

Having gotten that off his chest, Gordon lay silent for a while, drifting somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

"Scott, I've got something!"

John's voice bursting suddenly from his wrist comm. sent Scott nearly a foot into the air. Virgil normally would've laughed; now he barely managed a smile.

"What is it, John?" Scott demanded.

"My satellite feeds show that that landslide area a little to your north has expanded since Thursday morning. _And_ , I've got a few images of Gordon on the beach from that morning. It looks like he decided to cut across to the house on that maintenance trail, which just so happens to bisect the landslide area."

"Oh, yeah, I know that trail," Scott said. "I used to go running on it, until the first landslide hit a few months ago." He looked around to orient himself. "We're below the slope now. Would it be faster to approach from the bottom or cut around to the upper part of the trail?"

"I'd say go around to the top. I can't really tell from my angle how stable the ground is, but if anything lets loose, you don't want to be under it."

Scott's feet were already carrying him in the right direction, Virgil at his heels. "FAB, John. Have you told anyone else yet?"  
"No, I didn't want to pull them off their search areas in case it's a false alarm. You guys just happened to be the closest."

"All right, thanks, Johnny. We'll keep you posted."

"FAB," John replied.

Scott and Virgil picked up the pace to a brisk jog until they hit the base of hill. After that point they needed nearly all of their breath to climb.

Between breaths, Virgil said, "I've been wondering how Gordon managed to get himself into trouble so close to home. A landslide would make sense."

Scott shrugged. "I'm surprised that we haven't had _more_ things like this happen. Because we live here, I think we tend to forget that it's actually not the safest of places. All it takes is a bit of carelessness or bad timing, and even the most competent of people can get in trouble out here. I actually wouldn't have thought of a landslide, though – I was picturing something more like a poisonous snake or a fall over some rocks." He grimaced.

They reached the top and grimly surveyed what they could see of the landslide. A quick scan showed no sign of red hair or the bright clothes their brother often wore in his downtime.

Scott cupped his hands around his mouth. "Gordon!"

Virgil followed his example. "Gordon! Where are you?"

They paused to listen, and their faces lit up as they heard a faint reply. Casting wary glances at the loose dirt, they cautiously began to pick their way across the landslide area.

After a moment, they were at the edge of the trail, looking down along the landslide's path of destruction. Scott found that he had butterflies in his stomach – he had seen such scenes before, but to imagine his brother caught in that…

"Gordon?" he called again, his voice quickly swallowed by the density of the nearby trees.

"Over here!"

They saw a flicker of movement forty feet below them; now they could make out their brother's head, though he was so dirty that his red hair didn't stand out like normal. Virgil's fingers suddenly dug into Scott's arm.

"Scott – he has a tree on top of him," he murmured tensely. His medically-trained mind was rapidly going through all the possible injuries that could result from being underneath a huge tree.

Scott winced as he studied Gordon's position. This wasn't going to be an easy extraction. He raised his watch to his mouth. "Johnny, we found him," he said.

John's voice flooded through the watch in a torrent of words. "Great! Is he okay? Was it the landslide?"

"Yes, he was caught in the landslide, and he's okay enough to talk, but we don't know the extent of his injuries yet – we're going to have to use extreme caution in getting down to him. Here's what I'm going to need you to do, John: call the others and have them bring us some tools and equipment."

While Scott was listing what they needed, Virgil was busy fastening a rope to a tree and putting on a climbing harness. After a quick double-check of his equipment, he stepped over the edge of the embankment and eased his way down toward Gordon, trying to disturb the ground as little as possible.

Scott caught up to him as he passed Gordon by a couple feet, tied off his line and climbed back up so that he would have some slack to work with.

Together, they bent over Gordon, who was watching them with a big grin – despite his lips being so dry that they had cracked.

"Hey, Scotty, Virge," he said hoarsely. "Guess what my new motto is? Be _un_ prepared!"

Scott and Virgil snorted in unison, their worry only slightly alleviated – Gordon had proved over and over his ability to joke in the toughest of situations. Still, his level of coherency was a good sign.

"I'm not sure that's gonna go over real well with Dad," Virgil replied, shining his light in Gordon's eyes to check for head injuries. "In fact, I think that after these past couple days, he might set up some new rules for you that would put the Boy Scouts to shame. Can you wiggle your toes?"

They had to stand to see Gordon's feet poking through the dirt on the other side of the tree. Both feet moved a little bit and Scott gaped down at Gordon.

"Gords, are you wearing _flip-flops_? You seriously looked at this trail and thought that was a good idea?"

Gordon grinned wider. "I told you – my new motto is –"

"Yeah, yeah," Scott sighed. "Be unprepared. I heard you the first time. That doesn't make your sheer idiocy any easier to accept, though. How exactly did you – _you_ , an International Rescue Operative – get yourself into this mess?"

"Nonexistent invasive seaweed," Gordon replied promptly. He glowered slightly. "Just ask Al – he'll tell you all about it."

There was a look in his eye that made the two older brothers wince – whatever had happened between Alan and Gordon (and they wouldn't be surprised if they never got the full story), Alan was clearly going to pay for it. And with Gordon, revenge always took the form of merciless pranking.

Virgil had run out of things to inspect on the limited number of Gordon's body parts that were visible. He eyed the massive tree trunk lying across his brother's chest. "Can you really breathe under there?"

"No, Virgil," Gordon replied calmly. "I've had to learn to absorb oxygen from the dirt through my skin. I'm so used to it now that if you remove me from the soil, I'll suffocate."

Virgil growled and cuffed Gordon on the head, though the blow had no force behind it. "You do realize, I hope, that once we get you out of here and make sure you're really okay, you're dead meat?"

"Well, I probably look something like hamburger, so that sounds about right." Gordon craned his neck to look up into their faces, suddenly totally serious. "I know this is really stupid – you guys having to rescue me right on the island…but I hope you know that I'm really glad to see you. The last couple days would've been way harder if I hadn't _known_ that you guys were coming for me. So…thanks."

Scott rested a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "There's nothing to thank us for – you know we'll _always_ come for you, kiddo." He couldn't help but roll his eyes and add, "No matter how weird the circumstances."

Shouts at the top of the hill alerted them to the arrival of the rest of the family and crew; Alan wasted no time in skidding down the hillside. While the others discussed tactics, he and Gordon had a hushed conversation that ended with Alan looking quite a bit less pale, but wincing over what was no doubt a promise of hearty pranking in the near future. He accepted his fate quietly, though, clearly just glad that Gordon was more or less all right.

It took them nearly an hour to extricate Gordon without setting off another landslide. They ended up bracing the tree in place and digging underneath Gordon until they could slide him free.

Gordon gave them a good scare by passing out as soon as he was pulled from under the tree, but a hurried examination by Virgil and Brains proved that Gordon's body was simply responding to the change of pressure compared to what he'd been living under for the past two days. He came to after a few moments, groggy but cracking jokes like normal, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Due to the dense foliage and rugged trail, it took another hour to get Gordon home and into the infirmary. He was silent most of the ride, weakly clutching the edge of the stretcher with his right hand – his left, as he had predicted, was very painful to move after the awkward position it had been stuck in. They stopped every few minutes so that Virgil could make sure Gordon's vitals were holding steady – a sudden change would probably indicate internal injury.

In the infirmary, Virgil and Brains booted everyone else out so that they would have room to work. No one went far, and when Virgil re-opened the door an hour later, they all practically tumbled back into the room.

Gordon was resting peacefully in bed, carefully tucked under the covers. He had been cleaned up, revealing a colorful patchwork of scratches, scrapes and bruises all over his arms. Two fingers on his left hand were taped together, and his right leg, ensconced in a plaster cast from the knee down, was propped up on pillows. His face was sunburned and he had stitches closing a gash on his forehead. He had an IV line in, doubtless providing fluids, nutrition and pain relief, and he'd even been given lip balm. All in all, he looked quite battered, but far better than he had just an hour earlier.

His eyes were tired; he smiled sleepily as Scott ruffled his hair and claimed the seat by the head of the bed, forcing their father to pull up a chair nearer the middle of the bed.

"Well, Gordon," Jeff said wearily, "you've provided us with quite the little adventure! I have to admit that I'm surprised that you went into the jungle so unprepared, but I'm just glad that you're all right." He quirked an eyebrow as Gordon, Scott and Virgil smirked at his words, and wondered what he had missed. He mentally shrugged – with his sons, it could be anything.

John was watching from a video screen in the corner. He broke into the conversation at that point. "Hey, any chance I could make it down there?" he asked wistfully. He'd been stressed too, and it was much more satisfying to be able to see an injured brother in person than through a video feed.

Alan, who had just sat down, stood up so suddenly that his chair nearly toppled. "Sure!" he exclaimed. "I'll be right up – see you in a few!" He dashed from the room.

John looked startled. "Whoa! What's up with the Sprout? Normally he practically comes up kicking and screaming even when it's his normal rotation shift." He eyed Gordon speculatively, comprehension beginning to dawn in his eyes. "It's almost as if he's trying to escape something…"

Gordon kept his expression innocent, though, and changed the subject. "I think I could use some sleep," he said. "Especially if Johnny's coming down to join the Smother-Hen party."

There were several exclamations of "Hey!" at that, but Gordon just smiled and closed his eyes. He really didn't mind being smothered – at least, for the first day or two. After that, he'd need to begin working on escape plans…and plans to torment Alan as soon as he bowed to the inevitable and came back home.

 _I'll be prepared for your return, Alan,_ he thought, then realized with a start that he was breaking his motto of unpreparedness. He blinked his eyes open and saw that Scott was the only one left in the room. Huh…when had that happened?

"I guess I don't want to be unprepared, Scotty," he mumbled drowsily.

Scott's hand was a warm weight on his shoulder. "Yeah, you'd better not be, Squirt," Scott growled affectionately. "You're going to be the death of me if you pull any more stunts like that!" His hand squeezed gently. "Get some sleep. I'll stay here with you."

Gordon drifted off to sleep, glad for brothers who were always prepared to help – whether it was digging someone out of the ground, or just sitting near each other to provide comfort.


End file.
